My Diary of the Dead
by PhoenixEternal
Summary: When the world sends itself to hell, there isn't much to do except pray that Satan doesn't have enough room for your soul.
1. Chapter 1

Day….. 1536  
Date…. October 17, 2024

Base…. Old county prison in some nameless, shitsplat town in the North Eastern Quadrant of the New American Liberation Union

Rations…………. Scarce  
Ammunition……. Low  
Morale…………… Morose

They call me Phoenix. I don't remember what I was called before that, but what does it matter? That girl died in the fire that Molotov pulled me out of. A fire in a church caused by the innumerable amount of prayer candles lit within. Some people believe that it's proof that God has abandoned us all. I just find it ironic.

Robert drew the short straw for the week. It's a mark of just how bad things have gotten that no one cried this time, except his wife. And, hell, did she cry. But you would too if the only person left in the world who was helping you retain your sanity was drawn to be this week's martyr. So we had to kill her as well. Well, that's now two less mouths to feed, and the pair of them were able to feed twice as many mouths. I'm going to miss Robby. He was a good shot.

This place reeks of death. And it's not just the smell of the decaying mass of corpses piling outside our boarded doors, nor even their stale, decrepit breath seeping through the cracks with their every moan. It's the rank, foul odor that lingers after every solemn word, at the bottom of every empty food can, and in the final fumes of every used fuel canister. It's the stink of the vestiges of our hope, rotting away.

There aren't many of us left now. Maybe a dozen, I don't know. I don't like knowing just how much our numbers have dwindled; knowing how many of them are gone just so the rest of us could attempt to endure a few more days of this living horror movie. If hiding out in an old prison with no possible chance of ever escaping alive could be considered living. I now know what the prisons who were once sentenced here must have felt like, confined in these cold, stone cells. But at least they knew when their time would be up. At least they could hope for a reprieve. At least they knew that their worst possible fate was dangling on the gallows in the courtyard, with the simple fear that their neck wouldn't snap with the drop. Lucky bastards.

Winter's coming up, and we all know that none of us are making it through this one. Maybe I'll draw the short straw next week. A quick chop to the throat isn't such a bad way to go. And I'd never have to see it coming. I could just close my eyes and pray. Pray that the gates of hell have finally reopened so that I won't have to spend my eternity roaming aimlessly in this one.


	2. Day 1

Day: 1

I can't remember the last time that I sat in front of the TV all day and just watched the news. And I can't remember the last time that the news was being broadcasted on every channel (not that it ever has). And when your cable provider is giving you some 500 channels… that's a lot of news. Even more impressive was the fact that every channel was able to air a different story. But I guess you have to give the apocalypse its due respect.

I started on Channel 6 and began flipping through as many as I could stomach. I was already sick by the time I got to 15, and we don't even have channels 8 and 11. At 33 I stuck my head in the nearest toilet and expelled what could have been the last meal that I would ever eat. I was sobbing openly at 91. 147 had me cradling a Bible and praying to a God that I wasn't even sure was still there. I passed out midway through the book of Revelation with the TV on 204.

When I woke up sometime later, the screen was only a blizzard of static. I peeled pages 2054 and 2055 off my face from where they had adhered to the tears. I was mildly curious if the words "final judgment" had managed to imprint themselves on my forehead. Out of frustration and hopelessness… no, scratch that…. For no good reason at all, I threw the book at the snowstorm on the screen. The TV fell off its stand onto the hardwood floors with a crash that sounded eerily similar to something shattering. Yesterday, I probably would have cared.

So, this was it. The end of the world. If death is inevitable at this point, should I sit around and wait for it to knock on the front door or should I run and see just how long it will take for it to catch me? I imagine that scythe has got to be a cumbersome thing to carry…maybe that will give me a bit of an advantage.


End file.
